


Fairy Dust

by MarchnoGirl



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Books smell, Bookshop Owner Draco Malfoy, Children's author Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco has an obsession for books, Getting to Know Each Other, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Librarian Draco Malfoy, M/M, Muggle London, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 16:25:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18898339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl/pseuds/MarchnoGirl
Summary: Draco is the happy owner of a bookshop in Muggle London. Harry writes wizarding children's books. It's only inevitable their worlds would collide once more.





	Fairy Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jeldenil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeldenil/gifts).



> This exists thanks to the wonderful prompt by the equally wonderful [Jeldenil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeldenil): _Harry is a successful children's author. Draco works as a librarian. When an indignified Zach Smith tries to get Harry's books pulled from the library to 'protect children from profanity', Draco surprises himself with his fierce protective instinct about Harry's books._ I am sorry, there's no Zach Smith in my story, but!! I hope you'll like it, darling!
> 
> **Disclaimer** : All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A big thank you for my beta: [musingsofaretiredunicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musingsofaretiredunicorn)!❤️

With a flick of his wand, Draco rearranged the books of his store by author.

Another flick, and the dust on the shelves made a little dance before disappearing.

One last flick, and all the fingerprints on the books’ covers and the pages vanished, leaving them looking like new.

Draco sighed contentedly, looking around his store. He knew that some people thought his obsession with books was a bit weird, but he couldn’t resist his urge to cuddle them and protect them from bad weather, yellowing and dog-earing. In his opinion, books were precious treasures and he thought of himself as an intrepid hero, keeping them safe from ill-intentioned pirates.

That was how this had started. One day, Pansy had looked at the umpteenth new shelf full of books in Draco’s house and had scoffed. “Merlin’s balls, Draco, your house looks like a bookshop! Can’t you just borrow your books from libraries, as everyone else does?”

Draco remembered the feeling when he’d heard those words. His heart had started beating fast in his chest, making his hands tremble slightly. He’d grinned at Pansy, saying excitedly, “You’re right! I’ll open a bookstore!”

“That’s not what I  — ”

“I can already see it, I’ll mix Muggle and Wizarding books; people will love it!”

Pansy had shaken her head, amused, but she’d been smiling too. Draco had been living in Muggle London ever since the War had ended and the trials had freed him as a ‘forced death eater who was just a kid.’ He hated that definition—no one believed it, not even himself, and people still looked at him with suspicion and hatred. In the end, Muggle London had seemed a good enough solution, but he still hadn’t found what he wanted to do for a living.

It had been feverish months, but in the end Draco’s bookstore,  _ Fairy Dust _ , had opened, and Muggles loved it. They were fascinated with all the ‘fantasy books’ by authors they’d never heard of, with how pristine the books were, and with the warm smell of the books themselves, that seemed to pervade the air like in no other bookstore in London.

No one knew that the unknown authors were wizards and witches, and that magic helped to preserve the books and to enhance their smell just enough.

During the first difficult months, Draco had almost lived in the bookstore, remaining there even well after closing, rearranging the books, checking that everything was in its right place, balancing the magical account-book and unpacking boxes and boxes of new books to shelve.

When the sky became darker, Draco would linger, seeking a bit of relaxation before going back home. He’d light some candles and spell on classical music — usually Tchaikovsky — and select a new book to read. Even if he sold them, he still had a huge pile of books to read, especially from the Muggle part of his collection.

He’d walk slowly through the shelves, lightly caressing the books’ spines, and when he’d decided on his new read, he’d take it to one of the couches in the reading parlour. He’d open it, his fingers delicate, careful to not wrinkle the dust jacket or the pages and would immerse himself in a new world. Sometimes, Draco would stop reading to gently bring the book near his face, to briefly inhale the smell of the pages. He didn’t even realise he did it; when he read, he instinctively tried to experience it fully, with all of his senses.

There were times when Draco fell asleep reading on the couch and would wake up with a start in the middle of the night, his body aching from the awkward position. Other times he wasn’t so lucky, and he woke up only with the first rays of sunshine coming through the windows of  _ Fairy Dust _ , too late to go back home and get ready. He would try to make himself decent with magic and would start the day thinking he really needed some time off.

It was one of those mornings. This time Pansy woke Draco up knocking on the door of the bookstore half an hour before the opening. She was holding a large bag and when Draco opened the door, she entered without even saying ‘Hi.’ She hurried to his desk and dumped the bag on it with a loud thump, raising an eyebrow. 

“Did you fall asleep here again?”

Draco nodded slowly, still not fully awake. She sighed and went on. “You need to rest properly, Draco! But not today. Today I have a surprise for you. I’ve found some books that I think would be great for your Reading Thursdays!”

Reading Thursdays were an event Draco had started a few weeks before. He had noticed that many children were fascinated with all his books that told of magic and enchanted places—they never wanted to go back home, enthralled by the drawings and the shining letters of those books. After seeing the latest kid begging his mother to stay a few minutes longer, to read ‘just one more chapter,’ Draco decided to open two hours, from 4 to 6 pm, in the reading parlour to read books out loud to the children. It rapidly became a crowded and much-loved event in his bookstore’s neighbourhood.

He yawned and finally looked up drowsily at Pansy. “Pansy, if you brought me your vampire romances again, I swear…”  

Pansy shook her head and took a book out of her bag, shouting, “Better!” and shoving it into Draco’s chest.

Draco took it and his face lost what little colour it had naturally, his eyes snapping fully open now. On a shining green cover with a drawing of four dragons, stood out the title,  _ The Triwizard Tournament _ , and just under it, “by Harry Potter.”

Those two words spiralled in Draco’s mind for so long that they were starting to lose meaning when Pansy beamed, “So?”

Draco tried to speak, only to find out his throat had gone completely dry. He swallowed sharply and leaned the book on the desk. “He’s a writer? Of children books?”

Pansy smirked and emptied the whole bag on the desk: dozens of books fell on it, in an abundance of colours and seemingly endless repetition of the name  _ Harry Potter _ all over them. Draco’s jaw fell open and he started opening each book, briefly scanning the pages, brushing his fingers over the drawings of Potter’s deeds, absent-mindedly smelling the pages. They smelled of new, of magic, and of bravery, and Draco cursed himself for being so sentimental over stupid pieces of paper.

Pansy laughed heartily. “I knew you’d like them. Have a look, seems like our old friend has got a unique way of telling stories. I’ve got to go to work, now! Let me know what you think.”

Draco waved a lazy hand at her, muttering a farewell under his breath and continuing to flip through the pages of Potter’s books. Reawakening from the stupor of such a discovery, Draco glanced at his clock to see it was time to open the bookstore. He got up and turned the sign on the door to ‘Open.’

The rest of the day passed in a haze for Draco. He smiled and helped his customers, but his mind had travelled far away—to a time when his life was dominated by magic, when he lived in a big ancient castle, when he used to believe stupid things and had ruined forever his chance to become friends with the great Harry Potter… the same Potter who was now writing children’s books about his life. What a show off! But, at the same time, Draco couldn’t avoid the curiosity that spread through him.

Potter had never struck him as an artistic kind of person. What had changed in these years? Was he really a good writer? When the sky turned black once again, Draco’s entire body was thrumming with excitement to read Potter’s books. He switched the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and hurried to sit in the couch, a hot cup of tea in one hand and  _ The Triwizard Tournament _ open in his lap. He started reading it and soon found himself absorbed in its world, in the wonderful way Potter had crafted a narrative of the events, to make it enjoyable for young readers, in the brief sentences here and there that made Draco understand what Potter had actually lived all those years ago. 

Had he really been so blind to think that Potter’s life had been easy and happy only because of his fame? And the drawings… they were so vivid, so colourful and immersive. When Draco reached the end of the book, his heart skipped a beat. “Drawings by Harry Potter.” Draco’s mind blacked out and he stared at the page without blinking. Had he known Harry Potter at all during those seven years of school? He closed the book, wishing he could start his life once again and get to know this famous Harry Potter, after all.

That night he fell asleep dreaming of another life, where a hand hadn’t been rejected and Draco was under the water, waiting for Potter to save him before the other Triwizard champions…

^^^^^

After a non-stop month, Harry was happy to finally have some free time, away from writing. His first series of children’s books was completed, and he could finally take a breath of relief. He was walking along the streets of Muggle London, looking in at the windows of the shops, smiling at the freedom he had amongst Muggles. Sometimes he really needed those moments when he could walk in public without being asked for an autograph or a photo with a stranger.

He distractedly glanced at a window and almost tripped over his feet, coming to a halting stop. His books were displayed just there, in plain Muggle London. Was he having hallucinations? His gaze hovered higher, to look inside the shop… A blond man was sitting on the floor, one of Harry’s books open in his lap, reading to a bunch of children. Harry squinted harder... Merlin’s tits! It was Draco Malfoy!

Harry’s heart flew to his throat. What the fuck was happening? Harry’s mind was racing to understand the situation, when Draco Malfoy flicked his eyes up, just in time to glimpse Harry standing like an idiot outside the store, gaping like a fish. Harry widened his eyes and weakly waved a hand to greet him.

After ten years. He. Waved. His. Hand. To. Draco. Malfoy. What an idiot.

Malfoy tightened his lips as if to suck in a breath and then his cheeks flushed a crimson red, but he quickly flicked his eyes back to the children, continuing to read.

Taking a deep breath, Harry entered the bookstore and slowly approached Malfoy, sitting amongst the children. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice him, but a twitch of his jaw and a light stammering on a word told Harry he’d seen him enter.

After that, Malfoy continued to read passionately, smiling in a way Harry had no idea could be possible for his ex-nemesis, using his voice expressively, contorting his face to match what he was reading. He held the kids’ attention, and Harry’s, too. Malfoy seemed sweet, creating a masterful performance for the children sitting raptly in front of him. Had he known Draco Malfoy at all during those seven years of school?

When the story was finished and the children had gone home with their parents, only Harry remained in the bookstore, sat on the pillows on the floor, nervously scratching a patch on it. Malfoy sat in front of him, fidgeting with the book. He cleared his throat. “Potter.”

Harry flicked his eyes up to meet Malfoy’s. “Malfoy… I… It’s been ages!” He stood up and reached Malfoy, offering him his hand.

Malfoy took it and got up. “Ages, indeed. What brings you here?”

Harry felt his cheeks burning; was he really having a civil conversation with Malfoy? “I finished writing my first series of books and so I was enjoying a day off. I had no idea you… you have a bookstore?”

Malfoy smiled and Harry felt his cheeks getting even hotter if possible. When had Malfoy become so handsome? “Exactly. And you’re a writer. It’s a small world...”

Harry found himself grinning like a girl at his first crush. “Surely a weird coincidence. You are, erm, you are good with this stuff. And your bookstore… it’s so neat, beautiful and… cosy.”

They stared at each other in silence for a minute, before bursting out laughing. Malfoy regained control first. “We look like two idiots. Can I offer you something to drink, or maybe —”

Right at that moment, the door of the bookstore opened loudly, and Harry heard quick steps advancing in their direction, while Draco rolled his eyes and whispered, “Oh no.”

Harry turned to see a large woman, with curly hair standing up all over her head and an angry frown on her face, practically running towards them. She stopped right next to Harry, ignoring him and pointing a big finger towards Malfoy. “You! You are a librarian! How can you read such stuff to  _ children _ ! Shame on you!”

Harry raised his eyebrows, barely stifling laughter. Was that woman referring to his books? He risked a peek at Malfoy and saw him with his usual scowl in place. Some things never changed.

He crooked his head and answered with a calm that Harry never would have expected from him. “Mrs Delaoui, we’ve talked about this several times now. I find Harry Potter’s books more than appropriate for children: they love them, and the books teach them good lessons and values. I will never—not today, nor any other day—stop reading or selling them.”

The so-called Mrs Delaoui turned an alarming shade of red and stomped her feet on the ground, like a capricious child who’d been refused a sweet. “They are full of violence! And death and such strong words. This… how do you call him… Voldemort? He’s too bad for children, they could take him as a role model! I won’t bring my child here again under any circumstance and I will write to this famous Harry Potter and —”

Harry couldn’t restrain anymore and burst out laughing so hard he had to lean against a shelf, holding his belly. The woman looked at him, astounded. When he calmed down enough to answer, he looked at her, shaking his head. “Oh, I am sorry, Ma’am. Don’t mind me.” After all, it wasn’t every day that he could witness Malfoy supporting him.

Malfoy snorted and started again. “Look, Ma’am, I’ll repeat myself one last time. If you don’t want to bring here your child again that’s fine by me. And try to reach Harry Potter, too, if you feel like it. But what I can tell you is that I won’t stop selling these books, and the reason is simple. You say there is violence and death, but have you ever actually read the most famous fairy tales? They are all about princesses in danger, knights who have to kill an enemy for their love, and orphans who’ve lost their parents in horrifying ways. This is no less, no more. And I’ll tell you one more thing: these books teach children bravery, real friendship, humility, and to fight for the right things. I wish someone had taught me those things when I was a child. So, for the last time: I’ll never stop reading or selling Harry Potter’s books.”

Harry was looking at Malfoy with his mouth slightly open, his heartbeat racing in his chest. This Draco Malfoy seemed a far cry from the one he used to know, and he felt a sudden strong pull to get to know this new man standing right in front of him, defending him and his past to a Muggle.

Mrs Delaoui seemed at a loss for words and looked back and forth from Harry to Draco. “Well!” She cried out, “That’s! I don’t…  _ goodbye _ !” 

She turned and angrily stalked off, the sounds of her stomping feet the only one reverberating in the bookstore before she exited, slamming the door behind herself.

Harry glanced at Malfoy again and saw that a blush was covering most of his face and the visible part of his neck; Harry couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Malfoy must have felt his eyes on him, because he turned to Harry and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile of his own. “I…”

Harry briefly shook his head. “I never thought I’d live to see the day Draco Malfoy would defend me.”

This time Malfoy did smile, and Harry thought he could see a future in the gleam of Malfoy’s eyes. “And I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d go out on a date with Harry Potter.”

Harry crossed his arms and smirked. “Who said we’re going out on a date?”

Malfoy leaned in towards Harry, his breath ghosting over his lips. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry held his gaze. “You wish, Malfoy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are welcomed.❤️
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://drarryruinedme7.tumblr.com/)!


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